Playlist Pairings
by chaoswalking
Summary: A collection of one-shots, all based on songs. Mostly Destiel, but other pairings explored too! Genre, rating, and 'verse vary per chapter. Enjoy!
1. Lost It All

**A/N: Hello! This is a series of one-shots based on songs I listen to. Mostly AUs, variety of genres and pairings (including Destiel, Samifer, Megstiel, etc.). Updated sporadically, 'cause of my other longer fics. Enjoy and thanks for reading****!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural (the CW and Eric Kripke do) or any of the songs mentioned and/or quoted here. This is purely for entertainment purposes.**

Song 1:

"Lost It All"

(Black Veil Brides)

Destiel AU

Summary: After the Apocalypse, Dean and Castiel are left alone and hunted in a hopeless America. Before they die at the hands of Crowley's demons, however, they have one last mission: find Sam_._

_"__Because I built these walls to watch them crumbling down.  
I said, "Then I lost it all."  
And who can save me now?"_

* * *

They ran a lot, in this new world. Dean with his foot pressed desperately into the gas pedal of the Impala, his Baby, while Castiel muttered spell after ancient spell, useless means of protection. They were always out of breath, in this new world, and even as they slowed and rested and hid, they never quite stopped running.

"They'll find us here," Castiel warned Dean once somewhere in Minnesota, his back pressed against the worn tires of the Impala. He turned to gaze, expressionless, at his companion. "We are never safe."

"Fuck. I know that, Cass," Dean dragged a hand over his jaw, his rifle resting in the crook of his arm. "It's just a few hours, then we'll hit the road again. Stop being so damn negative 'bout everything. We'll get to Sammy in no time"

Castiel frowned. He looked at the ground, picking at a loose thread that wound from the sleeve of his borrowed shirt.

"Dean," he said after a while. "If we die–"

"No. No, man, I'm not gonna have that conversation with you," Dean cut him off, shaking his head, pushing himself off the ground. He looked down at Castiel with a set face, brow furrowed. "We're getting out of this alive. C'mon," he grabbed Castiel's hand, pulling him to his feet. "Let's get some sleep, okay?"

"Assbutt," Castiel mumbled.

Dean grinned.

"Baby in a trench-coat," he replied.

They slept curled together on the worn backseat of the Impala.

...

The next day, they met the demons passing into Iowa. The road was bare and made of dirt, and the dead grass fields surrounding it were gray with rain and mud. The demons stood in the road. There were four of them. Three men, one woman. Their borrowed lips curled into cruel grins as the Impala approached.

Castiel's breath was cold on Dean's arm as he embraced him, rushed and desperate. He offered only a comforting squeeze before nodding, holding aloft his rifle. They climbed out of the car. Slow, with purpose. The demons shifted where they stood.

"So, Crowley sending cannon fodder our way again?" Dean shouted, forcing his own face into a cocky grin. He knew Castiel was behind him, holding a .22 steady in his hands, just the way Dean had taught him.

The female demon let out a strangled shriek of laughter.

"Winchester!" she took a step forward. "Oh, Crowley's just about tired of running into you. After what happened with your poor, wayward little brother–"

A bullet smacked into her shoulder, and she stumbled back an inch, dirty sneakers scraping on the hard dirt road. Sighing, she glanced down at her shirt. A trickle of dark liquid ran down the white creases.

"Tsk," she said lightly. "I liked that shirt."

Dean cocked his gun again, eyes dark.

"Say another word about Sam and I put one in your ugly skull," he snarled. In the back of his head, pictures of a smiling face and hazel eyes haunted him. Castiel whispered a warning, whispered a caution. The female demon snapped her head towards him, black eyes shining with delight.

"Oh don't worry, Feathers," she said. "Crowley didn't forget about you. Having fun with Deanie-boy here?" she raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Didn't anyone ever tell you he's a love-'em and leave-'em kinda guy?"

Another bullet, this one from Castiel, jerked through her knee, and she fell to the dirt with a roar of discomfort, face livid and red.

"What–you hurt me!" She was screaming now, waving her arms at her slack-jawed companions. "That's it–we're going to rip you two apart bone by fuckin bone!"

The demons crashed forward, their teeth white and their limbs quick in the stiff air.

By the time night had fallen, the endless rainfall had pushed the bodies over and into the grass fields, black eyes still crooked with bloodlust.

The Impala had long since gone.

...

In Kansas, the demons were more condensed, six or seven per town. Dean and Castiel lost count of the bullets wasted on them, but the trunk never seemed to run out and Castiel's fingers were becoming raw and calloused with the constant reloading as Dean drove.

They went in silence. The demons never talked much now, and if they did their words were strangled and warped and usually started with "Winchester" and ended with "Crowley".

Castiel pressed his fingers into his temple, squeezing his eyes shut against the sudden headache that chewed at his nerves. He rested Dean's rifle on his knee, bullets rattling in the glove-compartment.

"I can't do this anymore, Dean," he said, his voice hoarse. "There's too many. We're going to die out here."

Dean didn't answer. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and his jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth.

"Can't die," he replied, after a moment. "Gotta find Sammy."

Castiel went quiet. They drove for ten more miles. Two demons at an abandoned Chevron and three more outside a farmhouse off the highway. Castiel's shirt was stained with blood, and he wiped it away carefully with a towel when the reached the car again.

He padded over to the open trunk, feet sore from walking. (As an Angel such things were trivial. As a human they were violently irritating, and Castiel gritted his teeth against it.)

He tossed the towel in over their untouched duffel bags, their plastic sacks of non-perishable groceries, and the abandoned bottles of pain medication and cheap gas-station beer. With a pause, the former Angel glanced down at these things–they reminded him painfully of the Apocalypse. For a moment, he felt a pang of yearning. Things were complicated then, but at least he'd had some semblance of divinity to cling to. A family to protect. His fingers itched for the bottles.

"Ready?" Dean was calling from the front seat of the Impala, the engine already churning. Castiel spared one last glance at the assortment of gear–his headache briefly calmed–then slammed the trunk shut silently, heading back to slide into his shotgun space.

He tried not to think about who used to occupy his car seat.

...

When they finally get to Lawrence, Dean was dead tired, his muscles aching with no rest. He quelled the engine, letting the Impala glide peacefully into a spot alongside the crumbled sidewalk. Yawning, he turned to smile at Castiel. He finds his companion asleep, cheek pressed against the cool, stained glass of the passenger-side window.

Dean let his smile drop. He reached out a hand as if to run his fingers through Castiel's dark hair, but stopped himself at the last minute. He had a job to do.

"Wake up, sunshine," he said, gently shaking the former Angel's shoulder. "I found Sam."

Castiel stirred from his sleep slowly, frowning slightly as he rolled his neck. He shifted in his seat so he was inches away from Dean, blue eyes still and unblinking.

After a moment he breathed, and his breath is warm.

"Are you sure?"

Dean nodded. The tightness in his chest was nearly unbearable now. He blinked, once, and his eyes were suddenly hot and stinging. It frustrated him.

"Yeah. Yeah, definitely." He broke the eye-contact, leaning back in his own seat to push open the door. A wave of sticky night air washed over them, and Castiel followed him outside. "This is the place."

They gather on the sidewalk, blood-stained and sore.

In front of them was a graveyard. Castiel's hand found Dean's, and for a moment they are still. The Kansas sky was littered with stars, the kind Dean could never see from the smoggy Earth before the Apocalypse. Now, in the silence of nothing, the last human gazed at them. He vaguely registered his Angel saying something, some words on life and rest and dying peacefully "God-rest-this-soul-Sam-Winchester-was-a-good-man" but all he could really hear was his own heartbeat.

It was loud, frantic. Dean walked back to the Impala in a strange state of catatonia. His footsteps were too loud. His head was too quiet. His skin was too cold but his blood was hot and violent as it coursed relentlessly through his veins.

Castiel gave him a worried look as they climbed back into the Impala. He'd already taken out the gun again, a few dull bullets gathered in the pale of his palm.

"You good?" Castiel sounded almost human as he said it.

Dean nodded.

"Yeah," he said. Slid a cassette into the deck and revved the engine. "I'm good."

They were always running in this new world.


	2. Tonight The World Dies

Story 2

"Tonight The World Dies"

by Avenged Sevenfold

Megstiel/Destiel sort-of AU

Genre: Angst/Horror

T for violence, swearing, general creepiness

Note: No anti-possession tattoos in this. Does not follow exact plot-line.

Summary: She was never supposed to fall in love, especially not with an Angel. But it happened, and she's determined not to let a Winchester steal his heart.

_"Silence all I want to say_  
_ With tendencies to run away_  
_ I'll run away_  
_ With you tonight_  
_ Launder all my sins away_  
_ And just like that mistakes are made_  
_ You know_  
_ Tonight the world dies"_

* * *

She tells Ruby she has never loved before. They stand at the edge of the Cage, each with a blade, and they are bored._  
_

_Oh_, she says, _I've lusted, sure_. But it isn't the kind of love she means. That love was dirty and quick and tasted like sulfur and blood, all wrapped in the putrid smell of human bones. Ruby smiles a borrowed smile, all white teeth and flickering dark eyes. They are cruel and vicious, just like Meg's.

_And you've never loved another way_? She watches Meg's expression hungrily. Below them, someone screams hoarsely, and it rattles the blades in their hands.

She tells Ruby no, but she imagines something else entirely. She shuffles on her feet, forcing her face into a cold sneer.

_No,_ she lies. _We're__ demons, Ruby. We don't love._

All Ruby does is laugh a sour laugh and stretch her fingers. She examines her nails. The scream below has been brutally ripped from the heavy air by the jaws of a Hellhound, and an uneasy silence settles over the Cage.

_Be careful who you hang out with when you're Topside, Meggie darling_, she says quietly. Sinister. _Nothing is immortal. _Shoots Meg a cruel smile. _Not even Angels_.

Meg is silent.

...

It takes a long time for her to finally meet the Angel, but when she does she gets a strange rush from it, an unearthly buzzing in her entire vessel. They stand across from each other in a dark room, flames between them. If she leans to her toes, balances her new weight, she can just see the Angel's bright eyes over that fire.

"We're going to Heaven, Clarence!"

In her stomach she feels a different fire. It crawls in her insides like a worm, like a rash, like a goddamn avalanche. The Angel only tilts his head, silent.

It is then that she realizes he has fallen for someone else.

...

_Forget that stupid feather-brain, _Ruby tells her later, her fingers itching absentmindedly at the crooked, matted skull of a Hellhound. She leans forward, snarling. _This isn't what Father wanted. He wants that Angel dead. Do you know what he does to idiots who disobey orders, Meggie?_

Meg shakes her head.

_He destroys them, _Ruby says with obvious glee. The Hellhound whines, thick jaws peeling back to reveal rotting yellow teeth, sharp and sinister. _He was an Angel once, too._

_Besides_, she adds as Meg moves to leave, her stomach bubbling with odd fear. _Castiel only loves the Righteous Man. Not you. Not some piece of shit Hell spawn like you._

...

She watches them when she can. She hides in the bodies of motel maids, janitors, police officers, just to catch a glimpse of Ruby's truth. It sickens her, but she finally finds it somewhere in Nevada, in the skin of a coroner's assistant at the sheriff's station.

"Sam's gone back to the library for some research, Cass," the Righteous Man says, threading his wretched hand into Castiel's. Meg resists the urge to cross the room, slam the sharp scalpel she holds in her fist straight into the Righteous Man's chest. She imagines it sliding wetly between his ribs and puncturing his heart. It makes her smile.

Castiel leans into his touch, until they are entwined in embrace. His eyes flick momentarily towards her, but he does not seem to register the black absence of a soul in her vessel's body. He focuses back on Dean Winchester.

"Oh," he says. "I suppose that means we're alone."

"Yep, and that werewolf ain't going anywhere 'til the moon comes out, so we've got a whole afternoon to ourselves," Dean grins. "We can do whatever we want. Dinner? Movie?"

"I have never seen a human film,"

Dean laughs, ruffling Castiel's dark hair with his free hand. The sound is like fingernails dragging over a vast blackboard to Meg and she grits her teeth against it, fists clenching.

"Great! Movie it is, then."

The shadow of a smile on Castiel's face is perfect, and Meg leaves before she can see Dean's reaction to it. She knows he thinks it's his, and his alone, his arrogant soul pulsing out disgustingly passionate waves as he leans in to kiss her Angel's cheek.

...

Recklessly, she sends herself into a diner, ignoring the startled screams of the waitress and she rips the woman's throat out with a fist, scalpel still clenched there. Warm blood soaks into the skin of her arm and she screams too, black smoke pouring from her lungs until she's nowhere at all, floating above the scene in her unearthly form, circling sky like some twisted, Hellish version of a vulture. She flings herself out of the room through an air vent, and speeds off into the night.

She re-enters her normal vessel, hidden in the backroom of an abandoned factory in Detroit.

Falls to her knees, scraped and bloody from a recent battle. Faces the cracked ceiling, teeth bared in frustration.

Meg cries.

...

_I know! _Ruby snaps her fingers, looking smug. _You kill them both. Make them watch each other die. That would be good. Great, actually. Two birds with one big-ass, gory stone. _She laughs lazily, her mouth curling into a beautiful, twisted smile.

Meg thinks about it. Oh, she can imagine killing Dean Winchester. She's imagined it since she first met him and his disgusting family. Cursed lot, those Winchesters. She hates them all.

_Yeah,_ she says. _Two birds. _

..._  
_

Ruby gives her an Angel blade, stolen from an abandoned corpse that was left in the Cage after the search for the Righteous Man. She tells her (in the stench of Purgatory as they cross to the Topside door) that she should do it slowly, savor her kill.

_I fucking hate the Winchesters,_ she spits. _Do this for me, Meggie._

Meg takes the knife greedily at first, but it has an uncomfortable weight in her hands. She slides it into her belt, and lets herself be sucked into the portal towards Earth. Ruby's face, small and crooked, is the last thing she sees before she's out again.

She takes a deep, unsteady breath, and a roll of laughter comes from her lungs. It's high-pitched and wild.

"Tonight," she whispers. "The world dies."

This time it takes her only three days to find them.

...

When she appears in their motel room, the TV is on and it casts a dim, pearly light across the tiny space. There are two beds crammed underneath a fuzzy photograph of an unsmiling child on the wall. Meg decides she will burn this room when she is done. Maybe she'll burn the whole motel.

Dean is sitting on the bed, arms crossed behind his head. He has not seen her yet. His green eyes are closed in exhaustion. Good, Meg thinks. She does not wish to fight an angry Winchester.

She takes a step forward before realizing Castiel is not there. The room feels cold without his presence and she grinds her teeth with the ache of it. She doesn't have to wait long, though–a flutter of moving air and he is there, standing by the curtained window.

His blue eyes widen when he sees her there, leaning against the door frame with a forced smirk.

"Dean!" he shouts, but Meg is faster. She expels from her vessel, flitting her way across the room. Sucks herself into the body_k_ of the Righteous Man.

She opens her new eyes with a gasping, delirious laugh. Twisting her new neck towards Castiel, she smiles with Dean Winchester's teeth.

"Hiya, Clarence," she says, standing. She stretched her fingertips in her front of her, feeling the bones pop. It's been awhile since she's been in a male vessel and for a second she feels uncomfortable. But she pushes the thought from her mind as she takes another step towards Castiel. "Been awhile, hasn't it?"

"Get out of him, demon," he hisses, summoning his own blade into his fist. "Get out of him now or I will destroy your filthy soul."

She laughs. Power is coursing through her/Dean's veins and it feels good. Really good. Like liquor in her bloodstream, steroids to her brain. She flicks a hand upward, smashing a light, watching the tiny shards of glass cascade around them in a demented halo.

"You won't kill your Winchesters, will you?" she says. "They've done _nothing_for you, Castiel, and still you follow them around like a freaking dog!" Her hand jumps out towards him but he steps back, some stormy emotion behind his gaze. She laughs again.

"Dean loves me," he says. It's a proud statement, crackling with his Grace. But there is unease in his stare.

"He'll never truly love you! He doesn't even know what you really look like, Clarence!" Meg's shouting now, Dean's voice filling the room. In the bathroom, the mirror cracks and shatters. The TV screen splinters and pieces of it shoot across the room, imbedding in the wall and the bedspread. One hits the side of Meg/Dean's face, but she ignores the pain. "I know you better than he _ever will_!"

She grabs a shard of glass from the floor, and without warning, she plunges it into her/Dean's arm. She feels Castiel's energy surge, feels her own soul convulse inside of Dean as he cries out.

"Dean!"

Meg is blinking away tears, her laughter dry and anxious now.

"He's not home right now," she says. Dean's eyes go dark and she watches as Castiel's composure crumbles.

"Please, give him back," he replies, desperation leaking into his words. It tastes good in Meg's mind. "Please, Meg. I'll do anything."

In the back of her mind, Meg feels extraordinary. _He knows my name_, she thinks. _He said it. _

She licks her lips. Ideas flash through her head. Ruby's face, gleeful and Hell-streaked, pops up there like a rotting weed. Meg knows what she wants.

"Say you love me," she whispers. It sounds strange and rough from Dean's mouth, foreign words. She hates the way she sounds. Like she's the desperate one, the hopeless one, like she's the sinner in the situation.

Castiel must have heard it too. He sucks in a long, painful breath. Closes his eyes, his jaw tightening in anger.

When he opens them again they are veiled in disgust.

"Fine," he says. Meg smiles and rocks back on Dean's heels.

"Not so hard, right, Clarence?" She's giddy. "Go."

He takes another breath.

"Exorcizamus te," he begins, shakily. "Omnis Immundus Spiritus,"

"_No! No!_" Meg screeches at the top of Dean's lungs, lunging forward in anger. She feels herself being dragged out of the Righteous Man and it hurts like Hell on Earth. Fire shooting up her whole being, burning into her. Searing her. Castiel steps aside and she slams headfirst into the motel wall, still screaming.

"_Castiel, stop! Stop it!_"

"Omnis Satanica Potestas, Omnis Incursio Infernalis Adversarii,"

She's leaking from Dean's mouth, his eyes, his nose. She has no voice to scream anymore, but she can see her Angel's face, upturned towards where she is starting to gather in a seething black mass of smoke.

"Omnis Congregatio et Secta Diabolica_," _he reaches forward to catch Dean, his voice breaking for an instant, only an instant. Meg circles, twisting, writhing. The pain is unbearable. She feels herself jerking closer and closer to Hell. She can already taste the flames, hear the Hellhounds barking.

Hear Ruby laughing.

"Ergo Draco Maledicte, Ut Ecclesiam Tuam Secura,"

The motel room is draining away.

"Tibi Facias Libertate Servire, Te Rogamus,"

Meg digs her fingernails into what she can in the Righteous Man. Through his eyes she sees Castiel's face. Through his skin, she feels his arms around her and for an instant she is free.

"Castiel, I love–"

"Audi Nos._"_

Silence.

Meg had thought before that being dragged to Hell would be a violent thing, and angry convulsion of sound and light and touch and taste. She imagined that being exorcised would be a painfully loud thing. Her own screams echoing in the gates of Hell.

She was wrong.

She hears only the sound of her Angel whispering to the Righteous Man.

...

END


End file.
